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User blog:LexPetitxVampire/Groupie
Ever since Kim Harrington was a young child, she had wanted to follow rock bands around and be their groupies; her father always corrected her, saying she wanted to be a roadie, as she got older, she learned to retort, she wanted to fuck the rock stars raw. When Kim turned twenty-one years old, she fell in love with a rock band known as Adrenaline Rush, a little rock band out of Washington. She knew she wanted to be their groupie, if only for the guitarist and bassist, Chris Berry and Lew Correa. What made Adrenaline Rush so awesome for her, aside from some musical eye candy, was it was something she could share with her father, and he stopped correcting her groupie dream. He even told Kim not to use a rubber, and get pregnant. Child support from either band member, singer, drummer, guitarist or bassist would be fucking helpful to that white trash family. She didn’t wish to trick any of them, if there was a baby, she wanted to be either Mrs. Berry or Mrs. Correa. But Kim didn’t share that with her father, she was just pleased as punch that he supported her dream of fucking rock stars raw. And she had to keep reminding herself of that as she walked out of the venue dressed in a little mini skirt, a too small push up bra and go go boots. Kim felt all fifty shades of uncomfortable, but if this caught Chris or Lew’s eyes, then it was worth it. Her dad watched her stumble out of the venue, into the bar, and rolled his eyes. “You act like you have never walked in heels before.” Kim sat down at a table, making her father get up. He stood in front of her and pinched her skirt up, allowing passerby’s a glimpse of her lack of underwear. “If you wanna catch a rock star’s eye, you gotta show them the goods.” Kim dipped her head, not looking at her father. “You caught daddy’s eye. You’re the reason why mom and me divorced.” “No, I’m not!” she growled. It wasn’t her fault he was a pig. Kim looked at her father, with hate in her eyes; her makeup was smudged, just the faintest black haze under her eyes. “Yes it was, you are just too darn sexy for your own good. And since you won’t fuck daddy, we’ll get a rich rock star to fuck you, knock you up, and we get his money for eighteen years. But I’ll send you out in a year or two after shoving a baby outta your cooter so you can fuck another rich ass rock star, okay baby doll?” Kim looked away from the smarmy, grinning asshole at the table, it wasn’t okay. He had been coming on to her since she was 11 years old. Kim wanted to cry, wanted to let her tears chute suicidally ground ward but didn’t. “You’re so much like your mom in looks,” gushed her father. He took a swig of beer and slammed the glass down; Kim was half amazed the glass didn’t shatter. But her smoky black eyes didn’t leave her father, as they glittered between black tracks of eyeliner beneath parallel tracks of black penciled eyebrows. “Before she got fat. Fat chicks are gross chicks. Hum, pregnancy makes you fat…there might be an issue. Think you could lose all your baby fat in a year or two?” A wave of anger swept over Kim, pulsing at her temples. Kim could feel every muscle in her body tightening. She still refused to look at him. “Why don’t you get a job, dad? Like other dads?” His eyes were magnified behind his thick-lensed, wire-rimmed glasses. “Because places of employment drug test you, baby doll,” explained her father. “I just can’t be expected to up and quit heroin and meth, can I? And I’m too white and legal to receive wel-fare.” Father and daughter took their leave of the bar and went out back, where the band was packing away, for their next show. “Guys can’t be back here,” said Lew Correa. Kim bit her lip, Lew spoke to her! Lew acknowledged her existence! “But a pretty girl like you could stay back here.” “Beat it, old man, we don’t swing that way, uh, go home,” sneered Chris. Kim watched as the van drove off, and as Federico McGinn, singer, and Bill Temple, drummer, got into their cars and drove off. “Our next show is in Hollywood, tomorrow night.” “I plan on going!” “Why don’t you ride with us?” said Lew. “Chris and I carpool, saves the environment, man.” “I’d have nowhere to stay,” said Kim, brushing her long blonde hair back, behind her ear. “You could sleep with us, in our room,” said Lew. “You’d have to share a bed with one of us, but you look like a party girl.” “But I’d have no way to repay you,” said Kim. She looked away from the two rock stars, even though she knew she was hot, hotter than the hinges of Hell. “I have an idea of another way you can pay us,” smirked Lew. The sharp wind brought the scent of smoke. “What’s your name, short skirt?” asked Chris, he placed an arm on the brick wall high above Kim’s head. “Kim.” “Kim, is that short for Kimberly?” “It is.” “I always wanted to name a daughter, Kimberly,” smiled Lew. Kim blushed like a moron. “I’ve always wanted a little boy and a little girl.” They climbed into Chris’s car, Kim taking the backseat. “I always wanted to name the little boy Joey.” “What kind of name is Joey?” hissed Chris. “I’d be naming him after Joey Tafolla, from Jag Panzer,” said Kim. The thought of having a son with Joey Tafolla was a warm thought, like coming home. “They aren’t the best band,” said Chris. “Adrenaline Rush is better.” Before Chris pulled onto the freeway, he pulled into a gas station. Kim excused herself as she needed to go to the bathroom, no one stopped her and she made her way towards the dingy and dirty gas station bathroom. In the privacy of the dingy and dirty bathroom, she checked her phone; she was surprised to see one text from her father, a reminder not to have either of them wear a rubber. She had an odd feeling about going with the two guys, it almost seemed too easy. But Kim found herself in the car again, this time next to a large wooden box that hadn’t been there before. Chris pulled onto the freeway and they were headed for Hollywood. She figured that rock stars had to get married somehow and had groupies somehow. Maybe this is how Sharon and Ozzy met. Maybe this is how Yngwie and his wife met. They passed the off ramp for Hollywood and Kim sat up a bit more. Her eyes went wild as a red flag went off in her mind. True Crime documentaries were her jam. Her breath tore in her throat. “Where are you guys staying tonight?” Category:Blog posts